“That was a dangerous thing to do, monsieur,” said Wylie.
“It was, Colonel. I recognise it now, but it was at the time that rumours of an alliance between Romanos and a Scythian Princess were freshly mooted. I desired to cut the ground from under his feet, in case he should actually be meditating any baseness of the kind. But, Highnesses, I endeavoured to mitigate any harshness which my proposal might seem to imply. I was about to visit Therma, I told Olimpia, and then I would lay before her husband a fact which would go far to remove any objections his subjects might be expected to entertain to the marriage.”
“And pray, monsieur, what was that?” demanded Eirene, her pale face flushed, and her eyes glowing.
“Simply, madame, that in the poverty-stricken veteran before you, you behold the great-great-grandson of Maxim Psicha.”
“Maxim Ghazi?” cried Wylie. “But why not have used that weapon before, Cavaliere?” For the name of the great Illyrian hero of the eighteenth century, who had built up a short-lived Christian state in his native highlands, and but for his early death by treachery, would probably have succeeded in driving the Roumis from Illyria, was one to conjure with among both Greeks and Slavs in Emathia.
“I was not aware of its value, Colonel. It is only the changes of these later years that have taught the world there is any Illyrian question at all. The formation of one Balkan state after another, and finally the emergence of Emathia from Roumi tyranny, have revived in the Illyrians the national feeling that has slumbered for generations, and which the Roumis did their best to stamp out by promoting local and tribal feuds. I have of course always been aware of my descent from the son of Maxim Psicha, whose mother fled with him to Magnagrecia on her husband’s murder, and who married an heiress of the Pazzi and took her name, but it was not until last year, when a deputation of Illyrian notables visited me in my humble lodging, and invited me formally to place myself at the head of their struggle for freedom, that I recognised it had any bearings on present-day politics.”
Wylie looked across at his brother-in-law with raised eyebrows, and Maurice spoke.
“You may not be aware, monsieur, that I myself was offered the crown of Illyria at the beginning of last year, and invited to negociate a British protectorate over the country when I refused it?”
“I was informed so, Highness, but you will permit me to say that it was your British birth, to which the Greeks in Emathia object, and not your Greek descent, which has no interest for the Illyrians, that led to the offer. When you referred the deputation to Prince Romanos and the Assembly at Therma, they turned their thoughts from you to the descendant of Maxim Psicha.”
“Another opportunity lost!” cried Eirene.